Shipsandboatsofalldesignsviedwitheachotherinthebay,sailsbillowing,
crewmen crying out over the noise of the spray, hurrying about the decks and
crawlingthroughtherigging.Someweresmallereventhantheirownlittletwo-
sailed boat. Some were far larger. Logen gawped, amazed, as a huge vessel
ploughedthroughthewatertowardsthem,shiningsprayflyingfromitsprow.A
mountainofwood,floatingbysomemagicinthesea.Theshippassed,leaving
them rocking in its wake, but there were more, many more, tethered to the
countlesswharvesalongtheshore.
Logen,shieldinghiseyesagainstthebrightsunwithonehand,begantomake
out people on the sprawling docks. He began to hear them too, a faint din of
voicescryingandcartsrattlingandcargoesclatteringtotheground.Therewere
hundreds of tiny figures, swarming among the ships and buildings like black
ants.“Howmanylivehere?”hewhispered.
“Thousands.” Bayaz shrugged. “Hundreds of thousands. People from every
landwithintheCircleoftheWorld.ThereareNorthmenhere,anddark-skinned
KanticsfromGurkhulandbeyond.PeoplefromtheOldEmpire,fartothewest,
andmerchantsoftheFreeCitiesofStyria.Otherstoo,fromstillfurtheraway—
the Thousand Islands, distant Suljuk, and Thond, where they worship the sun.
More people than can be counted—living, dying, working, breeding, climbing
oneupontheother.Welcome,” and Bayazspreadhisarmswide to encompass
themonstrous,thebeautiful,theendlesscity,“tocivilisation!”
Hundreds of thousands. Logen struggled to understand it. Hundreds… of
thousands.Couldtherebesomanypeopleintheworld?Hestaredatthecity,all
around him, wondering, rubbing his aching eyes. What might a hundred
thousandpeoplelooklike?
Anhourlaterheknew.
Onlyin battle hadLogen ever beensosquashed, hemmed,pressedby other
people.Itwaslikeabattle,hereonthedocks—thecries,theanger,thecrush,the
fearandconfusion.Abattlein whichno mercywas shown,and whichhad no
end and no winners. Logen was used to the open sky, the air around him, his
owncompany.Ontheroad,whenBayazandQuaihadriddenclosebesidehim,
he’d felt squeezed. Now there were people on every side, pushing, jostling,
shouting. Hundreds of them! Thousands! Hundreds of thousands! Could they
really all be people? People like him with thoughts and moods and dreams?
Facesloomedupandflashedby—surly,anxious,frowning,goneinasickening
whirl of colour. Logen swallowed, blinked. His throat was painfully dry. His
headspan.Surelythiswashell.Heknewhedeservedtobehere,buthedidn’t